Did I ever tell you about the time . . . . . .

. . . . . I went into a Big N Tall store and the clerk rushed up to me and said, "You've probably never been here before, but we cater mostly to tall guys, not big guys like you. Sorry." And he gave me one of those grimace-smiles that make you wanna puke.

. . . . . I went to a job interview and the chair they had was one of those tiny thin wire jobs, so I delicately wedged myself into it but kept all my weight on my feet (I basically squatted for 30 minutes). I have no idea what the hell I said, or what they asked me - I was so focused on not breaking the chair/collapsing on the floor/breaking my neck. By the way, I got the job.

. . . . . well, about the hundreds of times some ditsy restaurant hostess has shown me to a booth that had a fixed table, fixed seats, and about 10 inches of room between the two? I mean, shit! What's the point? Do you think humiliating me will garner a larger tip? I learned to run down a list of specifications, like Joan Crawford's dressing room demands. "Could we have a table instead of a booth, please, and could one of the chairs be armless? And maybe not in the most crowded part of the restaurant, please?" This usually works, but it aggravates me that I have to do it. I mean, if someone came in using a wheelchair, would they show him to the bar?

. . . . . I embarrassingly whispered to a flight attendant that I needed a seatbelt extension, and after she did her little demonstration for the passengers of how to buckle it, while all eyes were still on her she grandly came to me with the extension in her hand and loudly proclaimed, "Here you go, honey!"

. . . . . I was standing in front of a theater waiting for a friend and this tall, very cute guy came up to me and said, "Excuse me, have we met before?" And he tossed his Axl Rose tresses back and tucked the hair behind his ear, which had an earring: a silver pig. Evidently the pig earring signified that he was interested in screwing pigs. Like me. I never got the memo, I guess.

. . . . . I was standing in line at the supermarket and the jaunty retired man behind me turned to his wife and said, loudly, "What do you think - 400? 450? Hoo boy, just look at that. Maybe I should just ask him. Naw, he won't mind. Maybe even more. Jesus Christ!" And then he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to him, red-faced and heart pounding, and in the most contained voice I could muster, said, "DON'T ASK! Don't ask!" Like in Bullets Over Broadway. And the old man, all smiles, said, "Naw, all I want to know is how much you . . . " And I shouted, "DON'T ASK!" And he looked crestfallen. And then he started examining the stuff I was purchasing, and mumbling comments to his wife. For some reason, I did not have a stroke.

. . . . . my mom and dad were invited to a high-falutin Navy function in DC. Mom was feeling depressed about her weight and nothing she had fit her, so she asked my dad if she could skip the affair. My dad immediately called the hostess, and in a calm voice, in front of mom and me, said, "I'm sorry, we won't be coming to the party tomorrow night. My wife Carol is obese, and she's uncomfortable in social situations." I was about seven. When my mother fled from the room in tears, my father looked at me with a triumphant, smug grimace.

. . . . . I got to a parking place just a tad sooner than this other guy, took the spot for myself, and when I got out of the car he said, "Fat fucker, you fat lardass fucker, fat fat fat lardass fat fuck, fuck off you fat lardass fucker, fuck fuck fuck, fuck off, fat fat fat fuck, fat fuck!" And I said. "My, how articulate!" And he said, "You dumb fatass fat fat fucker, fuckin fatass fat fuck!" And I laughed in his face.

. . . . . I was in ninth grade and a new kid moved in across the street. He was in tenth grade and looked cute and athletic (from my side of the street, anyway). One day I was washing my Grandparents' car in the driveway and he was standing on his front stoop with a friend of his. I must've done something girly, although I was self-consciously deep into keeping my wrists straight and speaking in a low voice. He laughed with derision, turned to his friend, and said loudly enough for me to hear across the street, "Fat faggot." His friend laughed, then they went inside. I finished washing the car, rinsed out the sponge and chamois, went inside, and that night took 20 aspirin tablets. About an hour later, when I hadn't died, I called the poison control line and, imitating a concerned mother, said my daughter had just taken 20 aspirin. The operator said, "how much does she weigh?" And I said, "225." And the operator snorted, laughed a little, and said, "Well, she's big enough - it shouldn't hurt her." So I took another 30 aspirin. I spent the night rocking my head back and forth like an autistic child, waiting for death. I couldn't hear and there was a terrible ringing in my ears. I was nauseus but I didn't throw up. About 5 am I fell asleep. At 6 my mom woke me up for school. I went. Nobody ever knew about it.

. . . . . I tried to break my ankle to get out of gymnastics in seventh grade. I knew I was in for some huge embarrassment so I thought if I broke my ankle I could ride out the class. I started by jumping from the fourth step up onto the landing. Then the fifth. Then the sixth step up. Then I tried landing cockeyed, so something would snap. It didn't. I climbed higher up the stairs, and kept landing in a heap, but nothing broke, nothing sprained, nothing dislocated. The next day in gym class I had to leap over the pommel horse. I slammed on the springboard, tried to do a squat jump, my feet got caught on the horse, and I went over, landing in a heap to howls of laughter from my coach. Nothing broke.